


a call to brazil costs several thousand yen

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beach Volleyball, Brazil, First Kiss, First Meetings, Getting Together, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ginger gives him a strange look before snorting loudly. “God, you’re weird,” he says, voice shaking with barely suppressed laughter. “Do you normally harass people for games and ask them bizarre questions or am I just special?”Tobio feels a strange urge to punch him and stalk away, but he refrains.“I need to join a beach volleyball game for…practice,” Tobio grits out eventually, getting back on topic. He can’t let his temper blow this opportunity – the chances of him finding another random Japanese speaker playing beach volleyball are likely to be slim. “Our coach sent us here.”“Practice? For indoor?” Ginger asks, but he has the decency to look intrigued, pulling his cap back on and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “To like, transfer skills and stuff?”“Something like that,” Tobio shrugs. “So can I join or what?”-In which Kageyama is tasked with joining a beach volleyball game in Brazil shortly after Team Japan's defeat at the Olympics. By some miracle, he finds a Japanese player called Hinata, and life is never quite the same after that.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85
Collections: Kagehina Exchange





	a call to brazil costs several thousand yen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireHeartAW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireHeartAW/gifts).



Coach Hibarida certainly has some interesting ideas for training.

Tobio adjusts the cap on his head, takes off his sunglasses, gets assaulted by the sun and puts them back on again, and gazes around the beach he stands on morosely.

When they were told the idea this morning, he’d been excited, but now, standing on the sand in a foreign country tasked with interacting with complete strangers, most of that exuberance has completely worn off.

It had seemed like a good idea in theory. Following their defeat at the hands of Argentina, Team Japan are technically out of the Olympic Games, but as the hosts for the next ones, they are obligated to stay until the very end of the competition. At first, they’d been given leave to rest, until almost all of them had gotten too antsy to simply sit still, their failure still weighing on all of their shoulders.

And so, Coach Hibarida had come up with this: spend the day at a local beach volleyball hotspot, and play with the locals.

The idea is that being forced to play with completely different people, who probably didn’t speak the same language and had vastly differing levels of experience, would help to improve their teamwork skills. Plus the techniques in beach volleyball are quite different, due to the different rules and the ever changing factor of being outside, and Coach Hibarida is always on the lookout for brand new tricks.

Tobio’s never played beach volleyball before. It’s not popular in Japan, and he lives so far north anyway that there’s hardly anybody to play with due to the weather. But the newness of the challenge intrigues him, the cloying need to improve and do better thrumming under his skin. He’d spent the journey on the bus to the local beach almost vibrating – keen to play and learn and have the feel of a ball on his fingertips again.

Then they had arrived, got told to split up and return at 5pm under a large, extravagant clock seated atop a large steel pole. Thankfully it’s tall enough that even Tobio won’t lose sight of it, even with his disastrous sense of direction.

But now Tobio is stuck. His knowledge of Portuguese is abysmal, and his ability to communicate with people just through gestures is limited at best. He scans the beach miserably, taking in the various games happening across the sandy expanse, some of them with his own teammates already playing, and tries not to sulk.

He wants to play – he _does_ – he just doesn’t know how to get himself into a game, short of just grabbing up a ball and inserting himself into one.

He’s just contemplating attempting to break the rules, or at least bend them, and go and tag along with a more confident teammate – just until he finds his bearings! – when a voice snatches his attention.

“Nice kill!”

Tobio’s head whips around, voice picking up the familiar accent and unfamiliar sound.

His gaze flits around the throngs of people and scattered games manically until finally it lands on a group a few feet away. The crowd around this game is a little larger than the others, and Tobio finds himself on tiptoes, trying to see what has demanded everyone’s attention.

The set appears to have finished, judging by how both sides are in discussions with their partner, and Tobio shuffles closer, straining his ears to try and pick up the voices.

It could be heatstroke, but he’s pretty sure the voice he just heard had a Japanese accent to it, and if someone here speaks Japanese… It takes a bit of wiggling and some use of his elbows, but Tobio manages to squeeze himself through the crowd until he has a clear view of the players.

The team on the far side are clearly Brazilian – both speaking in loud, fluent tones that sound nothing like the voice he’d picked up, but the other team…

It consists of a very tall, dark skinned man and a much, much shorter man – very short in fact, considering this appears to be a high level game with experienced players.

The short man speaks up just as Tobio leans forwards, eyes squinting, but it’s only Portuguese that falls from the man’s mouth. Tobio slumps, disappointed, but then the man pauses, muttering to himself under his breath, as if searching for words.

Tobio perks up again, neck straining with the effort to hear. There! _That_ was Japanese!

“Hey!” he calls before can stop himself, “do you speak Japanese?”

He ignores the strange looks he gets from the spectators around him. He’s used to tuning out people in a stadium, it’s no different on a beach.

The man turns, clearly surprised, and seeks Tobio out in the crowd almost immediately. “Yeah… I’m Japanese,” he says, bafflement clear in his voice. “Are you lost?”

Tobio feels his hands curl into frustrated fists and he squeezes them tight before summoning some shred of patience. Desperation is wearing him thin.

Squeezing his way fully out of the crowd, he strides over to the man with purpose, continuing to ignore the stares drilling into his back. He can see the scoreboard now – the game is clearly over, so it’s not like he’s interrupting anything.

“I need to join your volleyball game,” he says, perhaps a little louder than is probably necessary. He doesn’t even need the other guys to be that good at this stage – he just needs to play. He can work on getting into a better game later if required.

“ _Need_ to?” the man repeats, eyebrows twitching just under the peak of his cap.

Now that Tobio’s closer, and the stream of sunshine from above isn’t dazzling him quite so badly – even through his sunglasses – he can take in his strange fellow national a little easier.

He really _is_ short – coming up to around Tobio’s collarbones, but he’s definitely not _small._ He’s broad, probably broader than even Tobio in the shoulder, wrapped in sun kissed skin and sturdy muscle. Unlike most of the other players he’s seen today, he’s dressed in more than just a t-shirt and shorts. Those are athletic shorts clinging to his thighs, and the short sleeved dri-fit shirt he’s wearing sits snugly around his chest.

Tobio finds himself swallowing. Suddenly, he finds himself hoping that hasn’t accidentally pissed this guy off.

“Hey,” the man says suddenly, squinting up at him. “Don’t I know you?”

“Do you?” Tobio asks, baffled. He’s fairly sure he’s never met this guy before in his life.

“Yeah! You’re that pinch server guy on the national team!” the man says cheerfully, snapping his fingers in recollection.

“I’m a _setter_ ,” Tobio grumbles back, caught between feeling oddly pleased he’s been recognised for volleyball and pissed off he’s been reduced to pinch server.

“Well I only saw your service ace,” the man dismisses with a casual wave of his hand. “So why’s a high flying Olympian like yourself bullying his way into beach volleyball games?”

Tobio splutters, ready to protest, when the man reaches up to pull his cap off his head to wipe the sweat away from his forehead, and he’s suddenly rendered speechless.

The man’s hair is the brightest, most vivid shock of ginger he’s ever seen on a human being, let alone somebody from Japan. He watches, perplexed, as Ginger reaches up and ruffles the curls – slightly damp from sitting under a cap all day in the sun – and finds himself blurting before he can stop himself:

“Is your hair real?”

He must dye it. Surely.

Ginger gives him a strange look before snorting loudly. “ _God_ , you’re weird,” he says, voice shaking with barely suppressed laughter. “Do you normally harass people for games and ask them bizarre questions or am I just special?”

Tobio feels a strange urge to punch him and stalk away, but he refrains. He _really_ doesn’t want to get punched back.

“I need to join a beach volleyball game for… _practice_ ,” Tobio grits out eventually, getting back on topic. He can’t let his temper blow this opportunity – the chances of him finding another random Japanese speaker playing beach volleyball are likely to be slim. “Our coach sent us here.”

“Practice? For indoor?” Ginger asks, but he has the decency to look intrigued, pulling his cap back on and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “To like, transfer skills and stuff?”

“Something like that,” Tobio shrugs. “So can I join or what?”

Ginger looks like he really wants to start laughing again, before he says, “Hold on,” and turns to his teammate, who has been watching the whole debacle silently with increasing confusion. After a rapid flurry of Portuguese, none of which Tobio even remotely understands, Ginger turns back to face him.

“Heitor’s keen to wrap up for the day so I guess I can supervise you for a game or two while he taps out,” he says with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

The much larger man – Heitor – claps Ginger on the shoulder and says something more to him before giving Tobio a polite smile and striding away, heading through the slowly dispersing crowd and across the beach.

Tobio squints. “Supervise?”

Ginger shouts something out in Portuguese to surrounding crowd, and there’s a low murmur of voices before two men step forward, grinning. So he’d been calling for challengers, presumably. Tobio isn’t sure whether he hopes they’re good or not – he’d like to win, but he’s also very aware he’s a novice.

“Have you actually played beach volleyball before?” Ginger asks as he wanders over to the net.

Tobio follows, feeling a little bit of excitement start to kick in now it seems he really is going to be playing in a game. Since their defeat at the Games there’s been a constant hangover of failure – it’ll be nice to just _play some_ _volleyball_.

“No,” he admits as Ginger exchanges a few words with the men they’re going up against and shakes their hands. He only just about comes up to the middle of their chests, but they don’t seem to be particularly surprised. Ginger must be a regular – it would explain the investment in good quality gear at least.

“Well, try not to trip over too much and watch for the wind,” Ginger says, grabbing a ball where it lies in the sand and tossing it neatly into Tobio’s waiting palms. “You’re a pinch server, so you can serve first.”

“I’m a setter!” Tobio calls after him as Ginger jogs to his spot on the court – or whatever it is they call it in beach volleyball.

Grumbling, he spins the ball between his palms and lets the thrill of getting to play chase away the irritation.

Sure, he’s never done this before, but it can’t be that hard right? The sand will be tough to get used to but his accuracy has always been impeccable. He just has to adjust for the resistance, and the wind, and try to remember that there’s only one other person on his side. Simple.

It turns out to be not simple at all.

“Out!” Ginger calls as the ball sails over their opponents’ heads and out of bounds for the sixth time that game.

Tobio grits his teeth and curses the existence of wind viciously under his breath.

“Do you want me to serve next time?” Ginger offers as Tobio stomps across the sand to join him in preparation for receiving their opponents’ serve.

 _“No,”_ Tobio snarls, pride speaking for him before he can think it through.

So far the game has gone like this: Tobio serves, it inevitably lands out of bounds, and then the other team serve it back, where Ginger manages to get it up, only for Tobio to either trip over his own feet on the sand or set it so poorly the ball falls to the ground on their side of the court within seconds.

He takes everything he thought earlier back: beach volleyball is _really_ hard. He finds himself longing for the controlled environment of an indoor court, fed up with his failure being thrown in his face over and over again.

Ginger hums, sounding amused, and Tobio fights down the overwhelming need to kick him. They’re at match point, so he should probably withhold violence.

The ball sails over, and within a blink Ginger is there, the ball falling onto his waiting forearms like he knew where it would fall all along. The game moves so quickly Tobio doesn’t have much time to appreciate it, but the man can _move._ It’s like the sand means nothing to him – he moves as effortlessly as he would across a hardwood court, his balance as stable as if concrete were beneath his feet instead.

Tobio watches the ball careen upwards and scrambles to get into position to set it.

It starts to fall and then, without warning, rapidly changes direction, snagged by a gust of stray wind.

Swearing, he launches for it, feet sliding uselessly over the sand. His muscles scream, used to sturdy ground to give him purchase, and he stumbles, all co-ordination robbed. The sky tilts, the ball disappears from view, until vertigo hits him hard as he falls, with no grace at all, face first into the hot sand.

There’s a soft _paff_ as the ball lands inches from his head.

Fuming, Tobio lies there, unwilling to move as failure and humiliation boil up inside his belly. Distantly, he can hear the opposing team cheering, and he feels the heat go up a notch.

“Wow, you’re terrible at this.”

Tobio lifts his head, incensed, sand spraying everywhere. “The beach is stupid!” he shouts at the universe at large.

Ginger nods, surprisingly seemingly in agreement, from where he crouches by Tobio’s side, arms folded as he looks down at him. “I wasn’t friends with it either at first,” he says sagely. “You get used to it.”

Tobio grumbles loudly, unwilling to acknowledge something as stupid as the beach being his friend. He isn’t in the habit of making those anyway.

“Come on!” Ginger says cheerfully, holding his hands out. “Now that you’ve been suitably humbled I’ll teach you how to play properly!”

Still annoyed, Tobio allows himself another thirty seconds of self-piteous wallowing before slapping one hand into Ginger’s waiting palm. It’s not like he has any other options right now, so he might as well accept, even if it boils his blood slightly.

The hand gripping Tobio’s tightens, and then Tobio finds himself being pulled to his feet with an alarming amount of speed. Apparently those shoulder muscles aren’t just for show.

“Well then!” Ginger says, brushing off the loose sand that sticks to Tobio’s shirt while Tobio stands there blinking into thin air, temporarily offline from the unexpected display of strength. “Let’s get started. I don’t have a competition today so I was mostly just having practice games with Heitor – that’s my partner – but he likes taking breaks so he won’t mind if I play with you for a bit instead! What’s your name anyway?”

Tobio snaps back to reality, just about processing all of Ginger’s babble. “What do you mean? I thought you knew?”

It’s not that he expects everyone to just _know_ who he is, but he thought Ginger had recognised him.

Ginger scratches his cheek. “Well. I know your last name. Sort of. Something beginning with K, right? But what’s your _full_ name?”

“Kageyama Tobio…” Tobio says slowly.

“That’s it! I knew it was something like that.”

Tobio squints suspiciously. “What did you think it was?”

“I was just calling you ‘Clumsy’ in my head mostly,” Ginger shrugs, and ducks the irritated swipe Tobio aims at his head with an aggravating snicker. “My name is Hinata by the way, thanks for asking. Hinata Shouyou.”

 _What a sunny name_ , Tobio thinks idly. It suits him, he supposes, as the now correctly dubbed Hinata adjusts the cap on his head, causing tufts of bright orange hair to poke out the sides and through the hole on the back.

“Well then Kageyama. Ready to play again?”

For a game that’s so unpredictable due to being at constant mercy of the weather, Tobio manages to find his feet in what he likes to think is relatively short order. He nails serving first – something he’s always excelled at – partly out of spite, and partly because he secretly sort of enjoys it when Hinata cheers when he lands an ace.

There’s seemingly no shortage of people to play against – from tourists to more serious players. Hinata’s partner comes back at one point to join in before heading off again, but Hinata himself never seems to get bored or wants to stop playing, other than taking a break every now and then to rest and drink water.

Tobio supposes it’s because Hinata’s probably just excited to have another Japanese player to play with – despite his admittedly skilful use of Portuguese – but he keeps his suspicions to himself.

Because as the day wears on, he finds himself having fun. Real, honest _fun_. The kind that he hasn’t felt since he became a professional, when obligations and expectations started to weigh a little too heavy. Now he’s playing just for the fun of it, to learn a new trick, to let loose and simply _play_ volleyball.

Coach Hibarida had wanted them to improve their teamwork, and while Tobio can’t claim to remember the names of any of the other people he’s met and played with today, he certainly thinks Hinata will burn into his memory.

He’s an unusual player. Very quick on his feet, and clever in the way he positions himself. There’s been innumerable occasions where Tobio thought a section of the court was unprotected, only for Hinata to seemingly just teleport into the spot. Or where he found himself setting the ball out of a frantic bid to keep it in the air more so than actually aiming, and Hinata managed to hit it anyway. And the way that he _jumps_ ; it’s like gravity has simply given up on trying to tie him to the ground.

Beach volleyball must be a serious hobby of Hinata’s, because the beach and the weather don’t seem to faze him at all.

“The sand is kind,” Hinata had said earlier, after finishing off a bottle of water and rubbing his face clean with a towel. “So you can dive a little more than you can in indoor.”

Tobio had taken the clean towel that he’d been offered and nodded vaguely, trying to focus on the advice and not the way Hinata smiles like the sun overhead.

“So, when you do you need to go back, anyway?” Hinata asks as they’re taking another break, sitting on the sand and sharing some of the snacks he had brought with him. They’re all healthy, and Tobio has no idea what half of them even are, but they taste good, so he munches along without complaint.

“Umm… around five,” Tobio mumbles around a mouthful of food, and then sits up a little straighter, trying to find the clock that they’re supposed to meet under, suddenly very aware that he hasn’t been keeping an eye on the time at all.

His frantic eye lands on the clock face in the distance. Four thirty. Relief and disappointment clash in his chest. Relief that he hasn’t missed the meeting time, disappointment that the day has nearly come to an end. Nothing about returning to the Olympic Village, an almost sterile environment that reminds everyone a little too much of failure, sounds appealing right now.

“And how long are you here for?” Hinata questions, finishing off his snack and leaning back with his palms flat on the sand behind him. The muscles in his arms flex and stretch as he does so. Tobio tries not to stare too obviously. He’s seen plenty of well-built arms before – volleyball tends to attract them – but there’s something about Hinata’s tanned, freckled skin that causes his stomach to jump.

“Thirty minutes,” he says finally, waving vaguely at the clock in the distance, “I said we had to leave at –“

“No, not today, dummy. I meant how long are you in Brazil for?”

“Oh.” Tobio blinks dumbly and stuffs his fingers into the sand. “We’re here until the games end, because Japan are the next hosts.”

“Really? That’s great!”

Tobio looks at Hinata, slightly startled. “Why’s that?”

“Because you can come back!” Hinata says, smiling so brightly Tobio feels like he needs his sunglasses to protect his eyes just from his grin. “To play, I mean. Unless you have practice?”

“Not officially,” Tobio replies slowly, feeling completely bewildered. He thinks this is the first time anybody has actually been excited at the idea of playing with him again. It’s a very peculiar feeling. “We’re on rest, technically, except for a few training exercises.”

“Like coming to the beach and inserting yourself into random games?” Hinata asks, cocking his head. “What a strange training exercise.”

“What would you know?” Tobio grumbles, his mood souring suddenly.

“What _would_ I know?” Hinata repeats, sounding almost coy under the teasing grin. Catching Tobio’s eye, that cocky smile sharpens just a bit before he winks, sly and confident. Then he’s up and on his feet before Tobio can blink, let alone react, whipping his cap of his head and running his fingers through his damp curls.

Tobio stares up at him, feeling a little like he has heat stroke. He’s never met anyone quite like Hinata before.

With decidedly less grace, considering how his brain feels more like melted ice cream than something functioning, Tobio gets to his feet as well. “So are you just here every day?”

“Pretty much!” Hinata chirps, using the peak of his cap to fan his face. He doesn’t look overly tired, despite the sheen of sweat across his skin, like he could go another five games if he wanted to.

Tobio lets out a quiet noise of interest. He sort of knew already from the continual display of skill, but Hinata certainly is very dedicated to the sport. “When do you have to go home?” he asks, figuring he should double check which one of them will be departing first. Turning up to the beach all on his own one day with no Hinata in sight sounds a little traumatic.

“Go home?”

“Yeah… when does your holiday end?” Tobio elaborates, frowning a little at the confusion on Hinata’s face.

“Oh!” Hinata suddenly breaks out into sharp laughter, bright and loud. Tobio suddenly has the urge to whip off his own cap to fan his face. “I live here!” Hinata says, some of that sly grin returning. “I moved here a few years ago. What, you thought I picked up Portguese that quickly in a week or something?”

“… Oh,” Tobio says dumbly. He didn’t really know what he thought. But Hinata being a resident hadn’t really… occurred to him.

Hinata snickers again, the sound hovering somewhere between teasing and fondness. It makes Tobio’s stomach flip pleasantly.

“My Dad got a job out here a couple years ago, and at the time I was _really_ interested in beach volleyball, so… I came with him!” Hinata explains, and the embarrassed twist in Tobio’s belly leaves in favour of curiosity. He moved all the way to Brazil because he wanted to play volleyball?

“You better get going before your teammates all leave without you,” Hinata says, before Tobio can ask more questions, nodding his head in the direction of the clock where there’s a slowly gathering bunch of Olympic volleyball players. “I’ll see you later okay?”

Tobio dithers on the spot for a moment, unsure of to what to say, when somebody else calls his name. Whipping his head around, his eyes land on one of his teammates, jogging across the sand a short distance away in the direction of the meeting place. Realising he’s being summoned, he turns to move as well, lifting an awkward, stiff hand in Hinata’s direction.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow!” Hinata calls back, waving enthusiastically as Tobio starts to jog to catch up with this teammates.

Tobio waves once, still feeling far too robotic, but the corners of his mouth twitch in anticipation as the clock looms closer. At the very least, the remaining days here certainly won’t drag anymore.

* * *

Coach Hibarida is a little taken aback when Tobio announces he wants to go back to the beach to play more volleyball, but he agrees soon enough with a pleased grin. The only stipulation is that Tobio does not push himself too far – the team is officially on leave now, after all, and no-one wants to risk an injury.

Armed with detailed, to the letter instructions of how to get the bus to and from the beach again (lest Team Japan lose one of their players forever to the streets of Rio de Janeiro) Tobio manages, somewhat miraculously, to end up back at the iron clock again.

Up until this point, he’d been brimming with anticipation, ready to stop hanging around the Olympic Village pretending to enjoy his ‘rest time’ and eager to play, but then something occurs to him.

He has no idea how to find Hinata.

The beach is massive – the biggest one he’s ever been on, full to the brim with tourists and locals and vendors and just so many _people._ Finding just one person – even someone as bright and striking as Hinata – is sure to be impossible. And how does he even ask anyone? He can’t speak Portuguese.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he had the forethought to ask someone for their phone number.

“Hey!”

The voice in his ear is so sudden and so loud that Tobio jumps about four feet in the air – a personal best.

Heart thudding wildly in his ears, Tobio whirls around furiously, chest heaving, to find the very person he had been looking for _cackling_ at him.

“Wow you’re jumpy! Shame you’re not on the court right now, that could’ve been a record breaking jump!” Hinata says cheerfully, clapping his hands together. He’s dressed in pretty much the same clothes as yesterday – except for a different pair of shorts maybe, looking perky and brightly coloured and all around a bit dazzling.

“How did you find me?” Tobio wheezes, before clearing his throat violently and glaring at Hinata, who smiles at him innocently. “And why the fuck is your volume knob turned up so high?”

“It’s noisy on the beach,” Hinata says dismissively, waving a hand, “and well, this is the only meeting spot you knew about, so it seemed pretty obvious you’d wind up here. It’s right by the bus stop too.”

Tobio huffs irritably, annoyed that his points have been answered so quickly. “Let’s just play,” he grumbles, stalking towards the beach, a plan already forming in his mind of how he wants to tackle he sets for the day.

And so they fall into a sort of pattern.

Tobio turns up in the morning by the clock, and Hinata is either already waiting for him or pops up shortly after, ready to drag him into the nearest game. It seems Hinata’s usual partner is happy to take the week off – something about spending time with his new fiancée – so Hinata is pretty much free to play as many games with Tobio as he wants.

They play into the late afternoon, until Tobio eventually drags himself back to the bus stop, muscles throbbing pleasantly and satisfaction settling deep in his bones, ready to do it all again tomorrow.

Until, all too suddenly, and much to his reluctant disappointment, Tobio’s last day in Brazil dawns. Just a week ago, he’d been almost looking forward to it: ready to leave the site of failure and get back to training properly and improving his condition. But now he’s spent the past week playing volleyball to have fun, spent the week with _Hinata_ , he finds himself dreading the seeing the sun set. Tonight he’ll have to attend the closing ceremony and first thing in the morning they fly home.

No more beach, no more volleyball for fun, and no more Hinata.

Perhaps Hinata senses Tobio’s slight downturn in mood, because he seems to be extra bright, extra loud, and just all around encompassing for much of the morning. He teases Tobio openly, calling out a jibe whenever he spots the slightest opening, peppers him with nicknames and exudes an abundance of joy and excitement when their games are going well.

Tobio would appreciate it, this never ending source of noise and sunshine, if he weren’t preoccupied with mulling something else over in his mind.

He wants to continue spending time with Hinata.

For the first time in the life, in a week full with firsts and milestones, he wants to spend time with someone outside of playing volleyball.

He has no idea how, or even why, this want has built up inside him, but he just… does. Spending time with Hinata is _fun_. It’s almost easy. It’s like nothing Tobio says or does phases him – like he’s immune to every sharp barb of Tobio’s personality. And Tobio thinks, or at least likes to think, that Hinata enjoys spending time with him too. He already has a beach volleyball partner and there are plenty of other people to play with, but for some reason he wants to spend every day playing volleyball with Tobio instead.

Maybe it’s because he’s the first Japanese speaker he’s met in a while, but maybe –

“Oi, Kageyama!”

Tobio snaps out of his reverie to find Hinata literally snapping his fingers in his face, a little pout creasing his features.

“Where’d you go to?” Hinata asks when Tobio starts paying attention, some of his annoyance fading in favour of cheek. “Did you hear what I said while you were off daydreaming?”

“No,” Tobio states, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle in a sudden need to move. They’d just finished a game and were taking a break, and Hinata had started babbling so much – as he’s seemingly wont to do – that Tobio had just sort of… drifted off a bit.

Hinata puffs out a sigh, ruffling his fringe. His cap dangles from his fingers, and his sunglasses are pushed up into messy red hair. It makes him look more casual somehow, when some of his gear is stripped away.

“I _said_ , do you want to get ice cream?”

Tobio blinks. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah! You know, the cold, frozen, yummy stuff? I bet you Olympic athletes don’t get much ice cream, huh?”

Tobio’s stomach gurgles against his will. He loves ice cream. He probably hasn’t had any since high school. “Yes,” he blurts, sounding desperate to even his own ears.

Hinata beams, blinding, and snatches Tobio’s wrist. “This way then!”

Without warning, he’s tugged, and Tobio follows Hinata’s quick steps across the sand as best he can, feeling a little like a ragdoll being pulled along. The journey is mercifully short, however, and Tobio thanks the universe for not letting him trip as Hinata finds an ice cream seller in short order. Not that it would’ve been difficult – they’re dotted all along the beach.

“What do you want?” Hinata asks, bouncing on his toes like a child. “Just point at the picture!” he adds when Tobio frowns at the menu board that’s full of Portuguese.

“Uhh… that one?” Tobio guesses, pointing at the creamiest looking option.

Hinata lets out a little noise of approval before babbling a stream of Portuguese to the vendor.

“I haven’t had ice cream in ages,” Hinata enthuses as he’s handed two cones. His own is chocolate – apt, in Tobio’s opinion.

Tobio takes his own – vanilla, with nuts sprinkled on top – with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you live here?”

“Well I try to eat properly,” Hinata boasts, and Tobio’s eyes inevitably stray to the firm muscles in his biceps and thighs.

Silence falls quickly as Hinata becomes far more interested in his treat, and Tobio starts on his own slowly. He’s half tempted to gobble it, delicious as it is, but then he’d be left with a gap to fill and he’s never been good at conversations.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Hinata suggests after he’s made a few generous swipes at his cone with his tongue. He waves vaguely for Tobio to follow and makes off across the beach until he reaches the paved area running alongside it, his bare feet slapping against the warm stones.

It’s quiet again for a while, aside from the general buzz of noise from the busy beach on one side and a bustling city on the other. Tobio starts to feel a little more at ease now that they’re strolling, and feels himself relax into the moment slowly, peering around them as they walk. He’s not had that much time to admire the scenery, despite how long he’s been here, and the stark difference between packed streets and an endless sprawling beach is more than a little mesmerising.

“What do you do here if you can play volleyball all day?” he asks, surprising himself with the question, as he starts to nibble on his cone now most of his ice cream is gone.

“Do?”

“Yeah. What’s your job?”

“Huh?” Hinata stops his stride so suddenly that Tobio ends up several paces ahead. He peers up at him like Tobio has grown a second head. “I play volleyball?”

Now it’s Tobio’s turn to stare. “As your job?”

Hinata’s starting to look almost concerned. “That’s what _you_ do for a job too you ginormous idiot… have you got amnesia from sunstroke or something?”

Tobio’s mouth works without any sound coming out. The remainder of his cone feels soggy in his hand. “You…” he says slowly, the pieces starting to fall into place far, far too late. “You’re a beach volleyball player. A professional one.”

“ _Yes!”_ Hinata says with exasperation. There’s a smile there though, his eyes twinkling with something like amusement. “You didn’t realise? What did you think I spent all day playing beach volleyball for fun?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what I thought…” Tobio mumbles, suddenly incredibly embarrassed. It seems obvious now, in hind sight, that Hinata plays professionally, considering his technique, his experience, the way so many people on the beach seem to know him. Tobio had just failed to connect the dots.

Hinata huffs, before it blooms into laughter. Tobio’s shoulders hunch at first, defensive, before he realises that Hinata’s not really laughing _at_ him – not cruelly. He’s certainly amused, his slanted smile teasing, but he’s merciful enough to let the blunder slide.

“Well, maybe I’m not Olympic level yet like you,” Hinata says, his shoulders still shaking as he grins up at Tobio. “But I’ll see you at the next one, okay?”

Hope and exhilaration flicker into life in Tobio’s chest and burn brightly for a blink of a moment, before the excitement fades as soon as it had washed over him. The thought of seeing Hinata at the Olympics makes his heart trip over itself in the way only getting picked as a starting player does, but the next Olympics are four _years_ away. And Hinata lives here, in Brazil.

Tobio’s never wanted time to move so quickly before.

“Hey,” Hinata says, his voice different, almost gentle sounding, breaking through Tobio’s thoughts like soft waves rolling up on the beach. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Tobio says dumbly.

“Your phone!” Hinata makes little grabby motions with his free hand, demand in his voice.

Baffled, Tobio rummages around in his pocket and unearths his phone – slightly relieved he had remembered to put it back in there when they took a break earlier – and passes it to Hinata, who takes it with greedy fingers.

Nimbly, Hinata unlocks it (“ _don’t you have a password_?”) and taps at something on the screen using his thumb. Some of the remainder of his ice cream is starting to dribble down his hand, creamy brown droplets sliding over his skin – not that he’s seemed to have noticed.

“There!” Hinata announces as he presses his thumb against the screen one final time with flourish. “Now we can call and text and stuff!”

Tobio takes his phone back, once again struck silent. He’s had people put their contact details into his phone before of course – teammates, classmates, coaches and managers. But it’s always really been just for business before, not to speak to him because they _wanted_ to. He stares down at Hinata’s contact information, warmth wriggling in his belly, and doesn’t even think of the international charges of contacting him once he’s back in Japan.

But as quickly as the happiness rises in him, it’s smothered once again by the slowly building sulk that he won’t actually get to _play_ with Hinata for years. Contact is nice, _really_ nice, as surprising as that is to admit, but it’s not quite the same.

“You know…” Hinata says slowly, his voice slightly muffled as he licks the trails of chocolate ice cream off of his palm and wrist, “I still have family and stuff in Japan. So I go home a couple times a year.”

Tobio feels himself brighten so much, it’s almost embarrassing.

“I’ll come and see you then, okay?” Hinata grins, brandishing what remains of his cone. It’s a wonder it hasn’t melted to the floor yet. “We can even play indoor volleyball! I played and stuff in high school, so I’d like one of your best sets please! One where you don’t trip over!”

Tobio scowls instantly. “I never trip over on an indoor volleyball court,” he says indignantly, and stuffs the rest of his soggy cone into his mouth, venting the sudden bout of emotions jumbling around in his chest into chewing.

This time, Hinata doesn’t laugh, he simply cackles. Tobio scowls harder. He takes back every nice thought he had earlier – this man is a gremlin, he does _not_ deserve it –

His mental ranting is interrupted by something cold and wet being suddenly daubed onto his cheek.

Jumping, he swivels his gaze down at Hinata, who blinks back up at him innocently, the rest of his rapidly melting ice cream cone hovering guiltily in the air.

Before Tobio can protest, or wipe the chocolate from his face, or even just move at all, Hinata is a blur again, showcasing his speed off of the beach for once.

Tobio thinks every muscle in his body seizes all at once when he feels a pair of lips press a kiss against his cheek, right over the blob of melted ice cream.

For a long while, he stands there, unable to move, the warm paving burning his bare feet and the wind from the sea pulling at his hair.

Hinata stands next to him, completely unbothered by how every piece of Tobio has ceased to function, merrily finishing the rest of his cone.

“That was nice,” Hinata says airily once he’s finished eating. Tobio does not reply, still blinking uselessly into thin air. “You know,” he adds, licking ice cream residue off of his fingers, “if you can score more than ten points today I’ll give you a real one.”

Tobio jerks back into life, shocked into living again by that proposal. “I’ve scored more than ten points before,” is what falls out of his mouth, pride claiming first place once again.

“Well then you shouldn’t struggle,” Hinata winks, before abruptly dashing across the paving, his feet making little slapping noises as he runs, and then becoming muffled as he hits the sand.

Tobio’s chest constricts and relaxes several times, his head almost aching with the effort of processing everything, before he finally clocks that Hinata has essentially run off and he growls, hurtling full pelt after him.

In the end, Tobio does score more than ten points that afternoon, and in the end, he has to go back to the bus stop.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself at the ceremony,” Hinata says as he stands by Tobio, having offered to wait for the bus for him. “I’ll be watching on tv.”

Tobio grunts vaguely, unable to stop himself feeling grumpy. He hopes that the bus ends up being hopelessly late, then he might not have to go.

“And you _will_ text me, won’t you? You’re a rich professional athlete, you can afford it.”

Tobio squints down at him. “If I remember,” he says, voice still surly in his continual internal sulk, but the corner of his mouth tilts in a smirk all the same.

Hinata peers up at him with a curious expression – not quite smiling, but not frowning either. He looks a little different now, completely changed out of all of his beach volleyball gear – stuffed into the bag hanging on his shoulder – and dressed in a simple t-shirt and cotton shorts. He looks younger somehow, stripped of his battle armour. Tobio sort of likes it.

“Hey, your bus is here,” Hinata says, shattering the moment, his eyes flicking briefly to look up the road before refocusing back on Tobio.

Tobio curses, not even bothering to hide his frustration, when a small yet strong hand grips at his elbow.

He turns, and has just enough time to register than Hinata is rocking upwards before he’s being kissed.

It starts off tentative at first, like Hinata is hovering, waiting for a response. Every nerve ending in Tobio’s body fires off at once, as for a blip of a second he remains frozen, shocked into stillness. Then the crackle of sensation searing through his body snaps him back to life and he moves, grabbing at Hinata and pulling him closer.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and Tobio has absolutely no idea what he’s doing – just simply chasing the feeling that courses through him and the way Hinata makes him feel like he’s just been set on fire.

He has no idea how long he stands there on a street in Brazil, kissing someone for the first time, someone that he only met a week ago, but it ends far too soon.

“Make sure you use your phone,” Hinata reminds him as he finally pulls away with one last apologetic peck to the corner of Tobio’s mouth as the bus rolls to a stop behind them.

Tobio swallows, and it feels like glass is sliding down his throat. He wants nothing more to ignore the bus and drag Hinata back onto the beach, but he can’t.

“Okay,” he croaks, unable to force any more words out of his battered chest, and misery grips him tight as Hinata beams at him, wrapping strong arms around his chest for a hug – tight and quick and fleeting, ending before Tobio can even respond.

“You’ll see me again before you know it,” Hinata says, with such confidence, like it’s a promise. “Now hurry up before the bus leaves!”

Tobio swears, sending an impatient, frustrated glare at the bus behind him before turning round and inexplicably stuffing his hand in Hinata’s flyaway red hair. He can’t help it, he’s been wanting to thread his fingers through those curls for some unearthly reason all week now.

“Play hard,” he says, the only thing he can think of to say, collapsing inwardly at how lame it sounds, before he bends quick, pressing a too hard, badly aimed kiss at Hinata’s temple and whirling around, diving through the bus doors before they close.

He finds Hinata through one of the windows after he pays the driver, still standing by the bus stop, waving and making a phone gesture with his other hand, smiling bright and wide.

Tobio cannot bring himself to smile back, but he fishes his phone out of his pocket and lifts it in the air to show his understanding before the bus groans beneath his feet and starts to drive away.

His phone pings before he’s even halfway back to his stop by the Olympic Village.

Tobio taps his thumbnails against his phone screen, a jumble of emotions tangled up his chest, before he sends a text back, the first of what will be soon become many.

* * *

Texting is difficult.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to send them, or that they’re a chore, it’s just that Tobio has never sent texts like these. It’s always been in reply to someone else’s message, short and business-like and never personal. He’s never sent messages just to _talk_ before.

He does his best – he replies to Hinata’s questions and mentions anything related to volleyball that he thinks is interesting (which ends up being most things, not that Hinata seems to mind) but anxiety and ineptitude gnaw at his guts all the same.

Hinata’s messages are just so _long_ in comparison. Bubbly and rambling and full of emojis, and it’s like his voice has been simply transferred into text. He sends photos too – of the Brazilian scenery, of food, of beach volleyball. And even some of himself. Bright, cheerful selfies taken on the beach, Hinata’s grin beaming at him from his phone screen, an endless blue sea behind him.

And he loves the photos, and the long messages, and _especially_ the selfies, but slowly and steadily the feeling of not doing enough starts to build and build.

He hates it. _Talking_ with Hinata had been the easiest thing in the world, but sending messages is like taking an exam where knows none of the answers all over again. Hinata never complains, never falters in how many messages he peppers Tobio’s inbox with, but Tobio still worries at his lip whenever he sends off yet another too-short message.

He stews on it, lets it fester in his chest until, _finally_ , a text suggesting something new lands in his inbox on a day where Tobio has the entire morning off. His Schweiden Adlers coach is wrapped up with meetings, so the team don’t have practice until later that afternoon. Tobio had been considering going to the gym to get some light exercise in before the gruelling work started when his phone pings.

It’s Hinata, of course, sending a rare message consisting of only a single line.

_Do you want to video call?_

It’s so short, and so unlike his usual rambling, that Tobio would think deeper on it, if he weren’t already slamming his thumb down on the call button.

It’s early enough in the morning that it should be a reasonable time in the evening in Brazil – Hinata is awake enough to be texting after all – and he’s been so sick of worrying about how he’s coming across over written words, something he’s always struggled with, that the opportunity to use his voice is irresistible.

The dial tone in his ear sounds strange – probably due to it being international – and Tobio paces up and down his flat with impatience until finally there’s a click and a confused voice saying, “Kageyama?”

“Hi,” Tobio says, suddenly rendered silent by Hinata’s voice ringing, a little tinny, in his ear. It hasn’t been too long since he got back from Brazil, only a month or so, but it’s been long enough that he’d been starting to worry he was going to forget what Hinata sounds like.

“Wow, you really are a rich athlete aren’t you?” Hinata says, just as bright and teasing as Tobio remembers him being, and the sound of it makes his knees go weak. “I meant a _video_ call – which are free by the way – but I guess this works too.”

Tobio winces. In his rush he forgot that international calls are expensive. “I’ll pay for it,” he offers, an embarrassed pout popping on his face.

“Nah, it’s okay, I wanted to talk to you and this way I don’t have to wait until we get everything set up!”

Anxiety flares again in Tobio’s belly. “You wanted to talk to me?” That sounded… ominous.

“Yeah! Because I missed your grumpy voice,” Hinata teases, and that familiar, mischievous tone immediately puts Tobio at ease.

“So, tell me about your rich athlete life,” Hinata goes on to say, and there’s a muffled crackling over the line, like he’s settling himself down somewhere – his bed maybe, judging by all the rustling. “Been in any good games recently?”

Tobio huffs, the expulsion of air causing a burst of static. He sweeps his gaze around the room vaguely before it lands on his desk chair and he pads over to it to settle in. He’s never really had a conversation like this before – talking about volleyball just for the sake of _talking_ about it, and he feels a little bit like a small boy all over again, running to his grandfather to tell him all about the games he’d been in that day.

It’s a lot easier than he thought it would be. There’s just something about Hinata that makes the words in his chest, usually locked in tight with various worn chains, loose and eager to fall free. He’s easy to talk to, but more than that, Tobio never really feels like he has to worry about what he wants to say. Hinata is teasing and robust and yet also sort of gentle and endlessly positive. Like Tobio couldn’t really put a foot wrong.

It becomes a little bit addicting.

The phone calls become frequent almost as quickly as the messages did, and Tobio is quietly relieved. He still worries about the length of his texts – despite Hinata never mentioning it – and the feeling of being inadequate never plagues him during a call.

“I don’t really do… selfies,” Tobio blurts out one day when Hinata is asking him what he thinks about one he sent the other day of him on a surfboard for the first time. Instead of saying how much he likes the photo (because Hinata shirtless and balancing terribly on a brightly coloured board has quickly leapt up to the top of his favourites list) he gets caught up in thinking how much taking a photo like that of himself makes him want to shrivel up.

Hinata blinks from Tobio’s phone screen before laughing, waving a hand in a dismissive motion. “That’s okay! Selfies are an art anyway.” He makes a stupid pose, and Tobio’s mouth twitches just a bit, before he sobers again. “I get to see you like this anyway, so it’s fine! You can send me other photos though, if you want. Like of your gyms and stadiums when you’re playing and stuff!”

“Are you farming me for volleyball secrets?” Tobio grumbles, even as he relaxes back against his bed, relief settling over him like a blanket.

“Maybe,” Hinata teases with a faux innocent expression, before he starts peppering Tobio with questions about whether surfing will help his balance during matches or not.

* * *

“Who are you talking to so much these days?”

Tobio blinks and looks up.

Romero winks at him from his seat.

The Schweiden Adlers are currently on a bus in the very early hours of the morning, travelling to their next game. As has become his morning routine, Tobio is messaging Hinata his plans for the day, while Hinata relaying what he did with his as he winds down for bed. Tobio taps his thumb against his phone screen and shuffles a little in his bus seat, scrabbling around for words.

Romero smiles in his seat in the opposite row, waiting patiently.

Tobio had been more than a little star struck when one of his childhood heroes had joined the Schweiden Adlers, and privately thrilled when Romero had turned out to be not only as good as volleyball in real life as Tobio had always viewed him to be, but also friendly and open, despite his legendary status. On the court, he’s a dream to play with, and in practice is easy to approach with regards to tactics, but in casual situations like this Tobio struggles. It’s like he reverts back to being ten years old whenever a conversation starts.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot more recently,” Romero prompts when Tobio remains painfully silent, “and smiling too! Someone new?”

Tobio’s eyebrows knit as he works through the spoken English slowly – he’s still not very good at it – before he feels heat swoop up his neck when he realises exactly what Romero is implying. That he has a partner, a _romantic_ partner, and he’s been so swept up by them that even his teammates have noticed a change in behaviour.

Tobio’s throat works uselessly as he processes all of this. He has no idea how to answer. Is Hinata a… a _partner?_ He thinks back to the bus stop, just before he left for the Olympic Village for the final time, of the kiss on the street. Of the promise Hinata made him make to use his phone so that they could stay in contact.

It’s not something _just friends_ do. Tobio’s experience with friends is admittedly very limited, but even he knows this isn’t typical. Hinata isn’t just a friend, or temporary beach volleyball partner, or a modern day pen pal, or even a combination of all of them. He doesn’t really know _what_ to categorize Hinata as.

“I don’t think I have a word for it,” Tobio says slowly, partly because he’s speaking English, and partly because he’s working everything out as he speaks.

“But they’re important?” Romero suggests, and Tobio is immediately grateful that he isn’t pushing for anything in particular.

“Yes,” Tobio says as he glances back down at his phone screen, at the photo that Hinata has just sent him of his dinner.

“Very important.”

The conundrum of _‘what is Hinata to him?’_ plagues Tobio for the rest of the week. He manages to put it aside in his mind when he’s playing, but as soon as volleyball stops being an immediate distraction it creeps back to the forefront again, demanding his attention. There are several times where he’s tempted to just ask – either by text or when they’re on a call, to just blurt out the words and brace himself for an answer, but cowardice silences him every time.

He’s grown too fond of Hinata’s voice, his words, his incessant babble and his teasing and his stupid humour and his endless cheer. He likes it when he wakes up to a message on his phone. He likes it when he can curl up in his desk chair and argue about volleyball tactics for hours. He likes it when Hinata FaceTimes him on the beach and shows him everything that’s going on and he can pretend for a while he’s back there with him. He likes it when Hinata speaks Portuguese, even if he understands none of it. He likes it when Hinata’s voice goes squeaky when he’s excited and lower when he’s being mischievous.

Tobio’s smitten, and he’s so keen to keep the status quo that he cannot bear to try and ask the question of _‘but what are we?’_ no matter how much it bites at his thoughts.

Unfortunately, like most problems, it’s impossible to avoid it forever.

“I’m coming home!”

“Huh?” Tobio nearly trips over a pile of laundry on his bedroom floor as he shuffles around, aimlessly getting ready for the evening while Hinata, having only just risen in Brazil, babbles happily in his ear.

“I’m coming back to Japan for a week!” Hinata elaborates, the elation clear in his voice. “My sister still lives at home and she’s graduating middle school, so I’m coming home to see her and my Mum and stuff… I was planning on telling you earlier but I was waiting until I got the flights confirmed because you’re so busy and I didn’t want us to make plans before I knew anything for certain –“

“You’re coming home?” Tobio confirms, interrupting Hinata’s stream of chatter as the heart of the matter crashes into him. Hinata’s coming back to Japan. And as much as Tobio has enjoyed the thread of connection that they have right now, there are many downsides to a long distance phone call.

“ _Yes_ , didn’t I just say that?” Hinata huffs, but it’s fond, and Tobio falls onto his bed in a rare giddy heap.

For a while he just lies there, listening to the sound of Hinata’s voice stream nonsense in his ear about his plans while he presses a wobbly smile into his bedding. For such a loud, objectively demanding voice, Tobio has grown absurdly fond of it. And it throws him so much sometimes, how much he misses the sound of it in the interim between their calls.

But as much as he enjoys talking to Hinata, it pales in comparison to being able to _see_ him again. To play volleyball with him, to spend time with him. He thinks back to the moment at the bus stop and burrows his face a little further into his pillows. Maybe there will be more of that too.

“Can I meet your teammates?” Hinata asks suddenly and Tobio lifts his head from his pillow so sharply his neck twinges.

“What for?”

“To farm for volleyball secrets,” Hinata replies instantly, and Tobio’s half convinced he’s actually telling the truth. “Because I want to meet the people on your team, obviously. They all sound nice.”

Tobio sits up a little bit and fiddles with the bed sheets with suddenly nervous fingers. It’s not that he’s opposed to Hinata meeting them, or that he thinks it’s a bad idea or anything, it’s just that…

“But how should I introduce you?”

The words are out before Tobio can stop them, tumbling out and into the phone speaker. His stomach cramps with the sudden embarrassment, and he slams his face back into his pillow, feeling completely and utterly ridiculous. He is a grown adult, _why_ is this so humiliating?

“Oh I don’t know,” Hinata says, and Tobio’s stomach twists up a little further before he registers the teasing tone. “Maybe Shouyou the Wonderful, or Shouyou the Magnificent… make me sound cool though, don’t just point at me and grunt. Or maybe it should rhyme! Like Shouyou –“

“But what _are_ we?” Tobio snaps, this time meaning the words. Normally the good natured teasing only riles him up in a way that makes him want to squabble, not itch for a fight. But there’s something about Hinata almost treating the situation a little too casually that sits under his skin and makes him itch. The unanswered question of what their relationship really is has been clamouring around in his head for too long and his patience worn thin with it.

He doesn’t _want_ to know, but also he needs to.

Hinata sobers immediately. “Well what you want us to be?” he says simply, in that gentle tone that makes Tobio’s heart flutter like he’s developed palpitations.

Tobio unearths his face from his pillow and scrunches it up, the words and fire dying in his chest. He knows, in a vague sort of way, what he _wants_ them to be, but finding the word to define it and then saying them out loud is making embarrassed heat flood through him all over again. He sits up abruptly and scowls furiously at his bedsheets, filled with sudden anger at his own ineptitude. It’s so easy to demand what he wants in volleyball, why is _this_ so hard?

“Kageyama,” Hinata says eventually when Tobio cannot summon a single word, “Do you want to introduce me as your boyfriend?”

He phrases it so easily, like he’s simply suggesting what flavour ice cream to pick on the beach and not such a momentous, defining area of their relationship. Tobio’s instantly jealous of the ease Hinata has with the words, before relief chases immediately after it, leaving him sagging until he flops back against the bed sheets.

“Yes,” he mumbles out, before he clears his throat and forces himself to speak more clearly. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay,” Hinata says, softly for once, the smile evident in his voice. “I want that too.”

For the first time, Tobio thinks he understands what people mean when they say they’re so happy they could fly.

* * *

Tobio is typically a little useless at airports.

His sense of direction has always been abysmal, even with clear signage, and airports have always been just so busy and full of too many people that it’s hard to concentrate. It’s easier now that he has managers to organise things, and a group of people to follow, meaning all he has to do is go where he’s told, but today is different.

Today he isn’t on a team trip abroad, he’s picking up his boyfriend from arrivals and is still mostly convinced, despite checking the details on his phone several times, that he is waiting in the wrong place.

He stands among a small crowd of people, all waiting for loved ones or customers to sweep away in their taxis, arms folded and eyes trained on the information board above. Hinata’s flight has landed, but he hasn’t emerged yet. There’s been a constant stream of people, but he has no idea if they were on the same flight or not.

Twitchy with anticipation and fair amount of nerves, he fishes his phone out from his pocket and swipes it open to check the details Hinata had sent him for what feels like the tenth time. He’s sure this is where he’s supposed to wait, but maybe he read the signs wrong?

_“Kageyama!”_

Tobio’s head snaps up just in time to see somebody with eye catching, flame red hair waving exuberantly from the wide doorway where people stream through from baggage claim.

Tobio’s phone is no sooner back in his pocket – stuffed there in haste – when Hinata is simply abandoning his suitcase and sprinting across the airport towards him like a comet.

_“Hinata –!”_

Tobio’s not sure whether he was calling out in surprise or warning, but there’s no time to think, because as soon as Hinata’s name has left his mouth the man himself is launching skyward and crashing into him.

His arms come up out of reflex, winding around Hinata’s hips and lower back to stop him from slipping, even as Hinata’s strong legs clamp around him, securing his perch. Tobio grunts from the sudden weight – Hinata is _heavy_ – his knees bending with the effort to not fall over. Hiding his wheeze, he plants his feet and finds his balance, taking a moment to make sure they’re not going to collapse in a heap before glaring up at the reckless fireball in his arms.

“Wow, you didn’t fall over! Neat!” Hinata says, big brown eyes wide and shiny with admiration.

Tobio feels a little bit like head butting him.

“Why can’t you greet people like a normal fucking person?” Tobio growls back, rearranging his arms around Hinata so that he’s holding him better.

Hinata adjusts his own across Tobio’s shoulders before pulling a face. “Hello, I’m a not at all creepy setter and I need to join your volleyball game, it’s very urgent,” he says, voice pitched exaggeratingly deep.

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Tobio squints.

Hinata squints back. “Yes you do. Did you miss me?” he demands, leaning in a little, still with that stupid pouting frown on his face.

“No.”

“Yes you did,” Hinata argues, the frown vanishing for a smile instead, and Tobio immediately feels like he has sunstroke all over again. Hinata leans in as far as he can and presses a wet, ridiculous kiss on Tobio’s cheek with a loud _‘mwah!’_

Tobio rolls his eyes, feeling a smile tug upwards against his will, because he has, for some inane reason, missed him. He’s missed him _a lot_. With a grunt, he lowers Hinata back down to the ground, his arms aching. “God you’re a lump.”

“Really Kageyama? Is that any way to greet your lovely boyfriend who has been on two planes and is horribly jetlagged and –“

Tobio leans in and kisses him quiet, chasing the sensation he left on the beach in Brazil and has been missing for weeks, swallowing the sound of Hinata’s voice. He feels Hinata hum happily against him, greedy hands gripping at his shirt to pull him a little closer before Tobio remembers that they are in public and pulls back a little. Hinata grins up at him, all sunshine and silence – for a change – and Tobio feels nerve tingling heat swoop through him.

“Come on,” he urges, standing upright and pointing at the suitcase that Hinata left behind and is now being eyed by unhappy airport staff. “Let’s hurry up and get out of here. You wanted to play volleyball, didn’t you?”

“Not wanted, _needed_ to,” Hinata corrects, but his voice isn’t teasing, it’s warm and earnest and addicting and Tobio feels a smirk spread across his face to match the one splitting across Hinata’s.

He really must remember to thank Coach Hibarida when he sees him next for sending them all to the beach that day – it had definitely been a _very_ good idea.


End file.
